Page 95 of Blood & Throttle
Pain. Sharp. Wet.
I lift my hand—blood.
Fuck.
He tagged me on the way out. Knife caught my ribs.
I stagger slightly, catching myself on the wall.
Sin’s already running toward me.
Her eyes land on the blood.
Her expression shifts.
She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t panic.
Her eyes land back on the blood blooming beneath my jacket.
Her expression shifts from adrenaline-honed focus to something darker. Quieter. She presses her palm flat against my chest—firm, grounding.
“Go sit your ass down. Now.”
I let her. More out of breath than obedience.
By the time we’re back in the warehouse quarters, I’m in the chair, chest bare, blood still sliding sluggishly down my ribs. She doesn’t waste time. Doesn’t even flinch. Her jacket’s already off, sleeves shoved up. Fingers stained from the night. She moves with the precision of someone too angry to be gentle but too careful to be cruel.
“Don’t you dare say it’s nothing,” she mutters, peeling the fabric away from the wound.
“It’s nothing,” I say anyway, lips twitching.
She shoots me a glare that could cut steel.
The slash runs from just below my ribs to my side—long, deep, and red.
Sin kneels beside me, pulls the med kit open, and starts cleaning it, fast and brutal. I don’t hiss. Don’t flinch.
She does enough of both for the two of us.
“You evernotthrow yourself at the biggest blade in the room?” she snaps.
“If I see a blade coming for you, I’m always throwing myself at it,” I answer, voice low.
Her hands still for a second but she doesn’t look at me, just pours antiseptic on the wound, dabs it with gauze, and starts stitching.
“You’re a damn idiot,” she whispers.
“Maybe.”
“And reckless.”
“Always.”
Her hands move slower now. Her voice drops with them. “But you came back for me. When Jace ran, you could’ve gone after him.”
“Iwasgoing after him,” I say.
She looks up. “So why didn’t you?”
